Nailah Zayed.
Maroudi, Nigeria.
5 Years Ago.
The first time I saw Imran was on a cruise for our graduation party. Some rich lad—I can't exactly remember his name, but I knew his face, was the one who threw the party and Imran was invited.
He, along with his friends were quite notorious back in the day. There was this group of theirs that included five members that earned a name from them. Aside from all being from rich and influential families, they were known as the top alumina of the university.
They were in their final year when I joined the university, and yet, we never crossed paths. I wasn't sure if that's a good thing or not. However, I'd like to consider it the latter since I was still getting used to living a different life.
I've been doing this for four years now though, and I'd like to think I've perfected the role. It was crazy how no one could tell I'm not the Nailah they used to know. I'm still yet to return to Nigeria, considering the plan was I wasn't allowed to return until I got this degree.
To my father, a weird name tag now attached to the man that plunged me into this life, he believed after spending four years as Nailah, I should be able to play the role and fit in pretty well.
So, I did.
It was hell, trying to adopt every mannerism of hers and learn everything about her, but I did it. The years seemed longer than it was supposed to be, and it seemed like each day only got harder. Taking someone's identity is something I used to see on TV, and I've always wondered how one could be able to do that.
Yet here I am doing the exact same thing. It helped that she and I truly have the exact face, no one would be able to tell the difference.
"Congratulations, Nailah." A random guy I have never seen before said as he stumbled towards me, holding what seemed to be a flute of champagne in his hand. His lips were stretched into a wide grin, his eyes seemingly slightly drowsy. Or maybe, he's just had a bit too much to drink.
I resisted the urge to give him a onceover, and instead, forced out a small smile. "Thank you." I side stepped him and opted to get as far away from him and the booming music. The amount of people on the first floor was too much, and as much as I do well with people, this is the last place I wanted to be.
I'm only here because one of my friends, the one I kept for the sake of getting through university coerced me into being here. However, it isn't a place someone like me would want. The music was too loud, and there was alcohol everywhere.
I may not seem like it, but I happen to know my limits as a Muslim. I am not exactly the most religious person out there, but I'm trying to not be the worst. I guess the intention and effort is what makes it better, right?
After all, I'd seen improvements in myself over the years. So, I'm going to continue down that path.
A small sigh left my parted lips as I took the stairs that will take me to the deck; and although I could still hear the music, it was more bearable compared to earlier. The air whooshed, making me reach out to fix my hijab back in place.
I was relieved to see that I was alone there. However, the relief ended soon when my gaze fell on someone else there. Seated on one of the chairs there, his gaze wasn't on me, but rather up ahead watching the sea waves. Bringing the champagne flute in his hand to his lips, he took a sip from it before bringing it down.
I couldn't exactly see his face entirely, but I could see his side view and he didn't look familiar. For a minute, I thought of turning around and heading back up—because the last thing I wanted to be stuck with a stranger. But, I decided against it.
He seemed to be minding his business. I could do just that too.
So, I took the last steps downwards—the sound of the heels I have on catching his intention much to my dislike. The first thing I noticed when he turned around was the round glasses perched upon his slender nose. Then, his hair that seemed he had allowed it to grow longer than it needs to be.
However, it didn't look messy at all. If anything, I'd say it looks good.
His facial expression though was blank, so I couldn't tell what he was thinking. My guess is, I've interrupted his alone time.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you." I apologized.
He didn't say anything for a few seconds afterwards, however, I wasn't sure what to take his unwavering gaze. I know I should be creeped out. However, I didn't feel that way. There was something about it though that I couldn't point a finger at.
Was it surprise? Or something else? It was hard to tell, since he seems to be a master at masking his feelings well.
Just as I decided to simply turn around and head back up, he spoke up.
"Nailah?"
My brows drew in, wondering how he could know my name. He doesn't seem to be amongst my mates, and I wasn't exactly the most social person then so hardly a lot of people know me. So, how does he know my name?
My head tilted to the side, eyes staring at him in confusion. "I'm sorry...have we met before?"
"Imran." He voiced out, his voice so low I barely got it. And I didn't, until he repeated himself—this time a bit louder than earlier. "Imran Hadi. We were...friends, back in Maroudi?" I wasn't sure who he was trying to convince.
It was supposed to be me, but why did it feel like he was speaking to himself?
Still, my mind went back one of the countless people I was forced to know of.
Imran Hadi. His name turned up as the first person on the list. Reason being, he and my sister were said to be close and I was explicitly told that he is one of the people I couldn't mess up around. He is one of the people that needs to believe I'm Nailah, for whatever reason I wasn't told.
I learned everything there was to know about him. The only difference being, he looked so different from the guy I saw the pictures.
Not completely, but he looked older, and more mature.
It's hard to explain.
I pretended to have remembered him, my eyes dilating slightly before my lips stretched into a wide grin. "Oh yeah...Imran." I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared he would see right through me. Taking a few steps towards him, I came to stand beside him—offering him one of the my widest smiles out there. "It's been so long. How have you been?"
He blinked, still eying me slightly warily. "Good." He answered, subconsciously twirling the flute slowly. "How...how have you been?"
I shrugged slightly. "Good, I guess."
He looked like he had more questions he wanted to ask, but he didn't. For some reason, he didn't look like the type to talk much—which was weird because if he was truly as close to my sister as the others claim he was, then shouldn't he be more...open and jovial?
Or could he truly see right through me?
The thought had me swallowing thickly. When I told myself that I was truly going to take up this role, I made a promise to myself to find out what truly happened to my sister. If it means doing what I was told to, or being treated anyhow, I would take it.
As long as I would figure out what truly happened to her, I would take it all in. I would suck it in no matter how long it will take. Even if it will take ten years or more, I would do so.
So, Imran being suspicious of me was something I couldn't handle.
"Do you want a drink?" He asked, seemingly no longer suspicious of me as he gestured to the cup in his hand.
"Uhmm--"
"It's apple juice." He brought out the juice box from beside him, which I hadn't realized earlier. He then offered me a small smile. "Helps me get through these events."
I found myself smiling back, genuinely. "Well, in that case, I wouldn't mind a cup."
Much to my surprise, he happened to have an extra cup with him from the exact place he had hid the juice box. This earned him a suspicious look from me.
"Do you always carry around a juice box and extra cup with you?" I teased, coming to sit beside him though leaving a reasonable space between us.
His smile widened slightly, and for a minute, I was enthralled by it. I had realized this earlier, but I'm seeing it even more now. Imran is truly a handsome man with his boyish features that made him seem lively.
It was nice talking to someone without having to pretend to be someone else. And although I technically am pretending to be someone I'm not right now, at the same time, I could keep my guards down ironically.
"Well, you never know when a beautiful lady will come in need of one so..." He shrugged slightly, keeping his flute aside. Picking up another one, he poured me a cup before handing it to me. Still, I eyed it warily—not sure if I should trust him. And, he seemed to have seen it too. "...I promise, it's not spiked." He chuckled slightly. "I would never cause harm to you. You know that, right?" His tone seemed to have changed when he said that, almost as if he was yearning to hear the answer.
My smile faltered, my gaze never leaving his that awaits my answer. What was I supposed to say though? This is the first time I'm meeting him, and I wasn't sure if I could trust him too.
However, there was something about his expression that I couldn't point a finger at. Was it desperation or what? I couldn't tell. Still, it drew me to give him an answer without giving much thought to it.
I nodded. "Yes. Yes, I know that." I truly don't, but here I am claiming otherwise.
He searched my eyes, as if looking for something. He must've found it, because his smile returned as he nodded. The intensity in his gaze was hard to miss though quite hard to comprehend. "Eres mi todo. Estoy loco por ti." He mumbled under his breath, I could've barely caught it if I my whole attention was on him.
I blinked, my mind racing a I wondered what those words could mean. I wasn't exactly fluent in Spanish, heck, I only know a few words that I picked up from people here over my duration in school. There was never a need for me to know it.
However, at this moment, I regret not knowing it because I was still yet to understand what Imran meant. It didn't help that he never said it again. It was the first, and only time I had seen this side of him.
Not as the years passed, or even before and after our wedding was he ever this nice towards me. I would be lying if I said it didn't hurt at most. I entertained the thought that maybe he could be that person that could help me find out what happened to my sister.
But, he had locked himself away; and I had never seen that Imran again.
All through these years though, I couldn't help but wonder. What happened to the Imran I met then?
What changed?